


Halt & Catch Fire

by Eltea, ravenclawkward



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:07:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25012135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eltea/pseuds/Eltea, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenclawkward/pseuds/ravenclawkward
Summary: When stolen Q-branch schematics and an attack on an MI6 whistleblower both point to the same culprit, Bond and his allies find themselves flying halfway around the world to California - where they'll have to navigate the glamorous, treacherous world of Silicon Valley tech startup culture if they want to catch a traitor and stop a disaster.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 9
Collections: MI6 Cafe MiniBang





	Halt & Catch Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the MI6 Cafe Minibang. I have been out of fandom for a LONG time and this fic absolutely kicked my ass. A million thanks to my amazing artist partner, [ravenclawkward-art](https://ravenclawkward-art.tumblr.com/), who made gorgeous art and was endlessly patient with me, and to Christine, whose encouragement and feedback kept me going when I almost got stuck.

[ ](https://imgur.com/yI0N8pG.png)

Anne’s legs were shaking.

_C’mon_ , she told herself. _He’ll listen to you. He’ll care. You’re doing the right thing._ She couldn’t help feeling like dozens of eyes were on her as she made her way across the room. In reality, everybody was trained on their own workstations, and most didn’t so much as glance up as she edged past them, forcing herself to keep moving.

She almost lost her nerve at the door.

_You’ll fumble it_ , a voice whispered. It sounded suspiciously like Kevin, who worked in front of her and made jokes about women programmers. _You shouldn’t be doing this. You’re wasting his time._

She swept the voice aside with a deep breath and a thought of Sofiya, the woman with the platinum blonde hair and sad eyes who would smoke and stare out the window while her lover was asleep.

Anne raised her hand and knocked on the door.

“Come in,” a voice called, and she took one more deep breath and stepped inside.

“Oh, hello.” Q blinked up at her from his desk. “Miss Hsu, isn’t it?” Anne nodded. “Please, have a seat.” He gestured to a chair, then seemed to notice the folders stacked on it and hurried to move them. “Sorry about the clutter. I don’t use this office much.”

_I know_ , Anne didn’t say. _I’ve been waiting for a chance to talk to you without anyone overhearing._

“It’s no problem, sir,” she said, letting the door fall closed behind her and perching on the very edge of the chair. “I mean, um, thanks for seeing me.”

“Of course.” Q sat back down and closed his laptop, fixing his attention on her. “Now, tell me what I can do for you.”

“Um, I, it’s—” Anne caught herself stammering and froze, but Q didn’t interrupt. He just sat listening with his full attention on her, and that bolstered her. _Do it for Sofiya_ , she reminded herself. “It’s just, there’s something that’s been going on that – I mean. I, um, work in surveillance. I do machine learning for facial recognition. But, I mean, that’s not important. The point is, uh…” She took a deep breath. He was still listening. “Some of the guys have been, um, passing around bits of the surveillance tapes. Like, stills and bits of video clipped out. Not sensitive stuff – I mean, not spy-secret stuff – like – we have surveillance on one target’s home, and sometimes, um, women come to visit him…” She trailed off awkwardly.

“I see,” Q said. He looked quietly furious. Anne could have cried with relief. “Thank you for bringing this to me.”

“Thank _you_ ,” Anne said, words tumbling over each other. “I was worried I’d be wasting your time, but, I mean – they’re not passing the stuff to anyone who’s not disclosed, and I know the women will never know about it, but it still felt – wrong.”

“You did the right thing,” Q reassured her. “What they’re doing is _absolutely_ unacceptable, and I promise you that it stops _now_.”

—

“And so he…?”

“Fired everyone who’d downloaded the files,” Eve reported sympathetically. She sometimes worried that Mallory’s face was going to stick like that, a permanent expression of despairing-but-not-surprised. She should really convince him to take a holiday one of these days, once they were no longer in a crisis. (She knew that was the problem. They were always in a crisis.) “I’m afraid there’s more, sir.”

Mallory groaned. “Of course there is. Firing half the surveillance team without warning me in advance would be too easy. Well, out with it.”

“One of the parties has an uncle on the National Security Council.”

“Dear God.” Mallory massaged his temple. “I’m surprised the phone’s not already ringing.”

“I’d give it fifteen minutes maximum,” Eve ventured.

Mallory sighed. “Well, at least this makes a change of pace. Usually it’s the field agents going off like firecrackers and leaving us to clean up the mess.”

“That’s the spirit,” Eve said. “I’ll start collecting the paperwork.”

“Thank you.” Mallory nodded, then paused. “And I suppose we ought to see about some kind of mandatory employee seminar or something. Make sure this sort of thing doesn’t happen again.”

“If it helps, Q’s already given his branch a massive bollicking. I came in at the tail end of it. Caught a bit about the responsibility that comes with being entrusted with the kind of power we have.”

“Someone ought to give _him_ a lecture about the delicacy required to _remain_ in power,” Mallory grumbled. His phone rang, and he glanced at it, then back at Eve. “Schedule a seminar anyway. It’ll shift some of the attention off Q. God knows he’s going to need that.” He picked up the phone with a resigned look. “M speaking.”

Eve backed out of the office quietly, wondering if she should bring him a cup of tea. Maybe a pastry or something? Alcohol was what they both needed for the day they were about to have, but perhaps tea and a chocolate croissant would do. If only she had time to run down to the bakery on the corner…

She pulled out her phone, struck by inspiration.

“Are you still angry with me?” Q answered by way of response.

“Let’s see,” Eve said. “Is Mallory being shouted at by a cabinet member because you couldn’t slow down and fire half the surveillance team with a little more diplomacy and, I don’t know, _warning?_ ”

“I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

“Well, you can start making it up to him now. Do you know that little French bakery on the corner, the one with the good croissants?” Q made an affirmative noise. “Put on your coat.”

—

The surveillance section was quiet. It had been quiet all week, with half the stations yet to be re-filled. Anne felt like the empty chairs were glaring at her. Doing the right thing was supposed to feel good, but she just felt alone, the weight of her report a terrible secret hanging over her.

“Hey, did anyone else see this?” Mike asked, spinning his chair to face the rest of the room. “They’re saying the person stealing tech schematics was one of us. That there haven’t been any new leaks since…”

Lisa snorted. “Since our boss went nuts and sacked half the team?”

Mike laughed awkwardly. “Yeah, uh, that.”

“Or maybe,” Lisa said, shaking her head, “we just haven’t _detected_ any new leaks because we’re running _half a surveillance team_.”

“Yeah, could be.” Mike scratched his head. He turned back to his station, and Anne hoped the conversation was over. It seemed like Lisa wanted to talk, though, because she swiveled around to face Anne and blew out a breath.

“It’s just weird, you know? Like, half the people we worked with are _gone_ , just because of one mistake. Everyone makes mistakes.”

Anne tried to sound casual through the anxious heat rising under her skin. “I mean, it’s not like it was something they did by accident. I don’t think he would fire people for that.”

Lisa waved her hand. “Oh, yeah, I know. I just mean that it feels like an overreaction. I mean, sure, fire the guys who made the stuff, whatever, even though they weren’t actually hurting anyone. But like, Ryan downloaded _one_ video, because he was curious, and his whole fucking career is gone. I mean, c’mon. People make mistakes! It’s a thing!”

Anne just wanted to leave, to feign agreement so Lisa would stop talking, but she couldn’t make herself. Q had stood up for her, taking all the blame and criticism on himself and promising to keep her name out of it. She curled her fingers around the sticky note in her pocket with its scrawled number. _This is my personal emergency number. Call any time, day or night, and I will answer._ She took a shaky breath.

“It’s not just about making a mistake, though. It’s that people trust us with all this power, and we have to deserve it. We have to be better than our impulses. Because that’s what responsibility means.”

Lisa frowned. “Whatever, Little Miss Perfect. God, I don’t know why I thought you’d get it.” She spun back to her station, muttering, “I bet you were the kid who reminded the teacher to assign homework.”

Anne’s heart was still pounding, but she didn’t feel the need to defend herself. She just wanted to go home and put on a Spiderman movie and feel like she’d done the right thing, no matter how painful it was to do.

She thought about the sticky note again as she rode the Tube home. There was nobody else she could talk to openly, but he’d said it was an emergency number. Then again, all employees had numbers to call for work-related emergencies. So maybe it _was_ for this kind of situation?

By the time she got off at her stop, she’d just about decided that she could manage on her own. Maybe a quick stop at the 24-Hour Tesco for ice cream, then she’d watch her movie and sleep and feel better in the morning.

Her phone pinged, and she glanced at it, already debating ice cream flavors.

_Unknown Number (+1-650-555-5023):_

_you’re fucking dead, snitch._

Anne’s heart stopped. There was a pressure in her chest that kept her from drawing breath. She felt horribly exposed, like there was a spotlight tracking her. Every noise set her off: the rush of the wind, the rustle of a tree, a car’s engine revving down the street.

Suddenly desperate to be home, she started walking as fast as she could manage while trying to look normal. There were no other pedestrians out, but she had the sensation of eyes on her all the same. The sound of the car drew nearer, and she looked over her shoulder, trying to pass it off as a casual glance.

She’d already turned back when she registered that she hadn’t seen a driver. She’d probably just missed them in the glare of the headlights, but she still couldn’t resist looking again.

The lights really were bright. The car’s high-beams were on, and she shielded her eyes and squinted, trying to make out a human shape. It was no use. Her unease deepened, and she tried to remind herself that it was probably just a rude driver. If she ran, she’d look like a paranoid idiot. A life’s worth of social conditioning was telling her to just act normal.

She ignored it and ran.

The car’s engine revved again as it sped up, and dread blurred out the world. It was impossible to pretend that she was just being overcautious now. She sprinted to the corner and across the street, leaping the low fence into the neighborhood green, and ran for the other side. She could hear the car speeding around the road that circled the green and raced to beat it to the other side. On the far side of the square, the lights of the 24-Hour Tesco shone like a beacon.

As she jumped the far fence, she heard the screech of the car skidding around the corner. She couldn’t look up. She ran for the Tesco, vision tunneled. She was across the street, then through the door, hearing what sounded like the car going up on the sidewalk behind her. She ignored it and dashed for the back of the deserted store, diving into the staff toilet and locking the door behind her with shaking hands. She didn’t know if any employees had noticed her entering, and she didn’t care. Now that she had a locked door between her and the world, they would have to break it down to get to her.

She fumbled her phone and the sticky note out, not even considering calling a different number. Her hands were shaking so hard that she misdialed three times, finally giving up and croaking the number out to voice recognition. Q picked up on the first ring.

“Yes?”

“Help,” Anne begged, hearing her voice crack. The numbness was receding, and she had to fight not to start sobbing.

“Give me your location.” Q’s voice was sharp and firm, cutting through the panic a little.

“I’m in the T-Tesco near my flat.” Anne pressed a hand over her nose and mouth to try to keep herself under control, feeling tears pour down her face. “I’m hiding in the staff t-toilet.”

“I’m tracking you now,” Q promised. “I see where you are. Are you injured?”

“N-no, I… no.”

“Good. That’s good, Anne. Help is on the way. What kind of threat should they be prepared to deal with when they arrive?”

“I d-dunno.” Anne took a heaving breath and scrubbed her wrist across her dripping nose. “I don’t know if they came in the store. A car – a car tried to run me down. But I don’t know if they came in the store or drove away.”

“Understood. You’re doing so well, Anne. You’ve done everything right. Just stay there and stay on the line with me; help is coming as we speak.”

Anne had no idea how long she waited there; she’d lost all sense of time. The next thing she knew, a woman’s voice was shouting, _“SIS entering the building, everyone remain calm!”_ Then, a few minutes later, there was a soft knock on the door.

_“Anne?”_ the voice said from the other side, sounding gentle now. _“Anne Hsu? My name’s Eve Moneypenny. Q sent me. It’s safe to open the door now.”_

“Is that Eve?” Q’s voice said on the phone. Anne nodded, then realized he couldn’t see her and made a soft noise of affirmation. “Good, I’m glad. She’s a friend of mine. You can go ahead and open the door now; she’ll make sure you’re safe. Go with her. I’ll see you soon.”

—

“What do you mean, MI6 isn’t going to pursue him?” Q demanded. Mallory could hear the sound of the Quartermaster pacing from over the phone line. “Not only was her identity compromised, it was a bloody assassination attempt! One of my people, whom I _promised_ to protect—”

Mallory sighed and reminded himself to be patient. He had to remember that this was the first time one of Q’s subordinates had been put in danger, and nobody took that well. Q’s agitation and fear were bleeding through the anger with every word.

“—not a single person who knew she was my source! I made sure of it. Someone managed a serious breach of our security, and we don’t even know how!”

“Q,” Mallory started, then thought better of it. The Quartermaster was still mid-rant, and at this point, it seemed easier to let him finish before trying to get a word in.

“And that’s not all! Have you forgotten that one of these people is probably the mole we’ve been hunting? Years of my branch’s secrets leaked onto the black market, one of my employees targeted for assassination, and we’re just going to let the culprits walk away and get on with their lives?”

“Right now, we don’t have a choice about that.”

“How can you say that?”

“Q,” Mallory tried.

“What can you possibly—”

“ _Quartermaster._ ” Mallory used the tone that Eve always referred to as his _Dad’s angry with you_ voice, and Q fell silent. “Are you ready to listen to what I have to say?”

“…Yes, sir.” Q sounded abashed.

“I agree with everything you’re saying. But I have people I answer to as well, and you fired the nephew of a cabinet member this week. _Do not interrupt me_ to tell me that he deserved it. That’s not the point. The point is that you’ve pissed off some very important people, and I am currently doing everything I can to stop them calling for your removal. Letting you lead an investigation to hunt down someone you’re already in trouble for firing is not going to help.”

“I have to do something,” Q said, but it was quieter. Mallory breathed a sigh of relief.

“I know. So here’s what’s going to happen. You are going to take some mandatory leave, which will placate the people baying for your blood. Miss Hsu will also be encouraged to take leave, to recover from the attack against her. If, during that time, you – acting as her friend – find any information about her attacker, you are welcome to bring it to me.”

“…Ah. Yes, I can do that.”

“Additionally, since you’re a department head, it would be perfectly reasonable to request a bodyguard while you’re on leave – though of course, what that person does and does not assist with is at their discretion.”

“I want double-oh-seven,” Q said immediately, and Mallory winced. The thought of adding MI6’s poster child for collateral damage to the already volatile situation was bringing on a headache. Then again, it was hard to argue with Bond’s results.

“Very well. He’ll be back in the country tomorrow afternoon; I’ll send him your way. And remember, Q – that’s all I can give you. You’re acting as a civilian.”

“Understood, sir,” Q said, sounding determined.

Mallory had the terrible feeling that it wasn’t going to be that simple.

—

Bond had barely dragged himself back from the latest hellhole (in the countryside of France this time, and hadn’t _that_ sounded more pleasant than it turned out to be) when Moneypenny pulled him aside.

“Q needs help,” she said. That instantly told Bond a great deal, none of it good. She’d clearly been waiting for him, and he knew his own reputation. You didn’t come to James Bond because you needed help moving flats. He was pondering who Q might need killed when Moneypenny continued, “We’re going after the mole, but it has to be off the books.”

Bond raised an eyebrow, impressed. “Q found the mole?” They’d been plaguing MI6 for weeks, stealing old tech schematics and selling them on the black market. Efforts to catch them had made frustratingly little headway.

“Well, it was more of a scorched-earth strategy, to be honest. He fired half the surveillance team for misconduct, and the leaks stopped.”

“Sounds like a job well-done.”

“Yes, well, I know you won’t care about the details, but it’s caused us some diplomatic problems with regards to pursuing them.”

“I suspect that’s where I come in.”

“Yes,” Moneypenny said. “It’s not just the mole, though. Somebody tried to kill Q’s whistleblower.”

“I’d imagine he’s upset about that.”

“You could say so, yeah. He has her somewhere safe, and we’re to go meet them as soon as you’re ready.”

“Lead on, then. Where to?”

“Cardiff, but he didn’t specify beyond that. Just added—” She screwed up her face in confusion. “—‘I hope you’re not arachnophobic.’”

—

The sun was setting behind a layer of grey clouds by the time their train arrived at Cardiff Central station, letting them out into a mild, misty twilight. Eve scanned the plaza for Q or Anne. Beside her, James was silent.

The back of her neck tingled as her latent field instincts caught someone watching them. Automatically, Eve catalogued her. Female, white, early forties. Greying dark brown hair in a messy braid. Black leather trenchcoat and hat, garish purple jumper worn with black overalls and a patterned silk scarf. Probably not trying to go unnoticed, then.

Sure enough, the woman approached them casually, hands in pockets.

“You Adam’s friends, then?” she asked, and Eve smiled.

“Yes. And you are…?”

“Louise,” the woman said, sticking out a hand. “His sister.”

“Oh, he’s talked about you!” Eve shook her hand. “Eve Moneypenny.”

Louise nodded. “He talks about you, too.”

“Bond,” the man in question introduced himself with a charming smile. “James Bond.” Louise raised an eyebrow at him.

“He’s complained about _you_.”

“Ouch,” Eve snickered, watching James take the news with his trademark smirk. “Someone’s trashed a few too many pieces of tech.”

Louise didn’t have a car, so they walked a few blocks to get a bus to her home. It took them out of the denser parts of the city, to a quiet neighborhood where they walked again. By the time they reached a small cottage set slightly apart from its neighbors and surrounded by greenery, full dark had fallen.

They entered into a cluttered, charming interior. The entryway let out immediately into a lounge where Q and Anne were sitting with cups of tea. One of Q’s cats was curled up in his lap, purring as he stroked it, and the other was climbing on the back of the sofa, eyeing a shelf with a row of terrariums. As James was introduced to Anne, Eve wandered over to the shelf, peering inside one of the tanks. Eight glittering eyes peered back at her.

“Oh,” she said, startled.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” Louise’s voice was fond. “She’s a Honduran wooly tarantula. I’d let you hold her, but I have to keep the poor things all cooped up so Adam’s little monsters don’t try to eat them.”

Q made an affronted noise and covered the ears of the cat in his lap. “Says the woman who drove Aunt Sarah into hysterics with _hello from my spiders_ holiday cards—”

Eve tuned out the siblings’ ensuing bickering and crossed to sit next to Anne.

“How are you holding up?” she asked.

“Oh, I’m fine!” Anne answered, much too readily. Eve gave her a skeptical look, and her smile wobbled. “Well, maybe not a hundred percent.” The other three were moving into the kitchen, and Anne startled as a cat jumped up and settled in her lap, then stroked it reverently, eyes welling up. “Hi, you.”

“It’s okay not to be okay,” Eve said softly. “You don’t have to hold everything together on your own. That’s why we’re here.”

“I don’t get it, though,” Anne mumbled. “My department head shouldn’t have to waste his time babysitting me himself. And then he goes and brings in _James Bond_.” Eve was charmed by the way she whispered it, eyes wide. “And everyone knows you’re M’s right hand. I mean, I’m so grateful that you’re all here, but it feels like too much. I’m not that important.”

Eve shook her head, hard. “That’s where you’re wrong. You’re so important, Anne. You’re the whole reason we do what we do.” When Anne’s face just crinkled in confusion, Eve continued, “Did you know that I used to be a field agent?”

“Q mentioned,” Anne said. “Before Silva, right?”

“That’s right. I got to experience all the glamour, and excitement, and danger, and it was as much of a rush as you can imagine. I know the agents aren’t supposed to admit they’re having _fun_ , because that sounds a bit sociopathic when the job involves killing people, but it’s the truth. I was having fun, so much that I didn’t realize that’s not the same thing as being happy.”

Anne’s eyes were glued to her. “What made you realize?”

“It was when Silva escaped from us and went after the previous M. At the time she, Mallory, and I were all at a Parliamentary inquiry into her handling of the situation. There was this awful woman leading it – didn’t care about what M had to say, barely even let her speak, just wanted to scold her in front of everyone. I couldn’t stand her. But then, Silva attacked. It was like everything changed. I’d been fuming at that woman a moment before, but with bullets flying, I was ready to die for her. I would have, happily. Because she was mine to protect.”

She could still remember the wave of protectiveness that had come over her. The shift from seeing the woman as one of _them_ to one of _us_.

“After that, the idea of going back to being a lone hunter just felt empty. Field agents are ultimately working towards the same goals – protecting civilians, making the world a safer place – but it’s easy to forget while you’re out there, focusing on your targets. I decided I wanted an assignment where I could focus on the people I’m fighting _for_. People like you – people who don’t realize they’re important, even though they’re the most important thing we have.”

Anne gave her a shy, grateful smile, and Eve returned it. Too many people doing secret intelligence work forgot that the third word of their name was _service_. Eve had met dozens of agents like the fired surveillance operatives, who acted like capricious gods. Who saw themselves as entitled to their power and exempt from the rules that applied to normal, _lesser_ people. As a field agent, she was afraid it would’ve been all too easy to become one.

“Dinner!” Q announced, sailing into the room with his other cat behind him and handing Eve a bowl of ravioli drenched in tomato sauce. “I know you didn’t have time to eat on the way here, so I’ve heated up some leftover pasta for you.”

Eve took it gratefully and tried not to outright cackle at the despondent look James was giving his own bowl. She’d been aware that Q’s idea of cooking was heating up something that came frozen in a packet, but unlike James, she’d experienced life as a broke uni student and could eat overcooked supermarket ravioli with gusto.

“Thanks, Q, you’re a darling,” she said, popping one into her mouth and giving James a sweet smile. He narrowed his eyes and took a defiant bite, winced, and swallowed it. He’d probably just discovered that it had been heated up too fast and was hot on the outside and cold on the inside.

“Yes, it’s lovely,” he lied through gritted teeth.

“Wasn’t any trouble,” said Q, blissfully ignorant, scooping up the cat twining around his ankles and dropping onto a sofa. “Anyway, now that we’re all here, let me get everyone up to speed.”

“I’ll take that as my cue to leave,” Louise said, “since I imagine I shouldn’t officially be hearing any of this.”

It was distracting to be briefed by someone whose arms were full of a purring cat, but Eve obediently sat up and did her best to pay attention.

“You all know about Miss Hsu’s report to me,” Q said, “However, at the time, I never disclosed her identity to anyone. I fired the offenders solely based on the evidence I’d gathered myself.”

“They could’ve suspected that you’d been tipped off,” Eve pointed out, and Q nodded.

“It’s quite possible. Now, this is the interesting part. Q-Branch had been suffering from a leak for some time. Someone taking data and schematics on old, retired hardware and selling it on the black market. One of our contacts managed to buy some of it back, and was attempting to track down the mole from that end. They’ve reported that about a week ago, the seller dropped out of all known contact with no explanation.”

“Because you fired him for something unrelated,” James surmised. His eyes flicked to Anne. “So he retaliated against the one who caught him?”

“Yes, though several details of how he did it stuck out to me. First, that Miss Hsu didn’t see a driver in the car that attempted to run her down.”

“Didn’t see?” James asked Anne. “Or saw there wasn’t one?”

“I can’t swear to anything,” Anne admitted, looking nervous to have his direct attention on her. “It was dark, everything was fast, and so on. But I noticed it even before I realized the car was after me. The front did look empty.”

James looked back to Q. “Your branch has done work on autonomous vehicles. You think the mole tried to kill her with stolen tech?” His bowl of pasta, Eve noticed, was gone, though she hadn’t seen him put it down.

“That’s the thing,” Q said. “The mole never stole physical tech. Only data. And having data on self-driving cars is a far cry from being able to create one. I try to maintain a basic knowledge of all the fields in my department, and I’ve sat in on plenty of meetings with the automotive engineering team, but I know I for one wouldn’t be able to manage it without a great deal more study.”

“You think he wasn’t working alone,” Eve realized. “That he has an ally.”

“Yes, and one with resources. Which brings me to the second detail that caught my attention. Someone used a burner phone to send Miss Hsu a threatening message right before the attack. It came from a six-five-oh area code in the United States. That’s Palo Alto, California, and several other nearby cities – the heart of Silicon Valley. Viable self-driving cars are seen as a sort of holy grail of technology at the moment, with all sorts of companies racing each other for the prize, and there’s nowhere you’ll find more of them in one place.”

“And I imagine the sort of research Q-Branch has done on the technology would be worth a lot to them,” Eve said, starting to catch on. “Even the out-of-date stuff the mole managed to take.”

“Exactly,” Q said, his eyes dark. “This might not be easy, but they’re not getting away with what they’ve done. We’re going to make the bastards pay.”

Eve was privately impressed with him. Even while cuddling a cat, that had come out downright sinister.

—

“So I think I missed something,” Anne said as the group piled out of their rental car the next day, into the warm California evening. Bond was pleased to see that she’d got over the deer-in-the-headlights look she’d had when talking to him before. “Is this the person your CIA friend is sending us to, or someone you know?”

“Both,” Bond told her. “She helped me out during the Spectre mess, and I told her to contact Felix for protection. He relocated her here, and when I asked him for contacts in the area, he got in touch with her.”

“It’s good of her to help us,” Q said, and Bond nodded agreement, leading the way to the address they’d been given. It was an old two-story home surrounded by tall trees. As directed, they bypassed the front door to climb a staircase on the side of the house.

Bond’s knock was answered swiftly, and his breath caught a moment. In his travels, he was accustomed to meeting beautiful, glamorous women caught in the orbit of dangerous men. He wasn’t accustomed to seeing them like this – dressed in comfortable clothes, eyes bright, safe in a peaceful, leafy suburb.

“James,” she greeted him in her warm accent. “It’s so good to see you. You and your friends are welcome here.”

“The pleasure is mine. Though I’m afraid you have the advantage of me. What shall I call you now?”

“Beatrice,” she said, pronouncing it the Italian way. “I chose it myself.”

“Lovely,” Bond said. “It’s an honor, Beatrice.”

“Thank you so much for agreeing to have us here,” Moneypenny said once introductions had been made.

“I’m happy to help,” Beatrice replied, ushering them into a modest studio annexe. With its dated gingham curtains and off-white carpet, it was nothing at all like where she’d lived in Rome, but Bond imagined she might like it that way. “I’m sorry there isn’t more room.”

“Nonsense,” he told her warmly. “I’ve slept in far worse places than on a comfortable floor. We’ll all squeeze in somehow.”

“Er,” said Q, who had a cat-carrier in each hand and was looking contrite. “I may have a pair of extra passengers, but if you’d rather not have them here, I can get a hotel.”

“No, not at all,” Beatrice said, recovering admirably from the surprise.

“I still can’t believe you brought the bloody cats on a secret mission,” Moneypenny told Q, who was already letting them out of their cages. The orange manx immediately set off to explore. Q glared at Moneypenny, stroking along the back of the sleek black-furred cat.

“I told you already, Chernabog hates the cattery, and I couldn’t very well bring him and not Bill.”

“You called your cats _Chernabog_ and _Bill_?” Bond couldn’t help himself.

“Mm,” Q hummed, seemingly oblivious to the incredulity as he gently scritched the black cat between its ears. “Chernabog here was a stray. Bill,” he nodded to the cat now attempting to scale Beatrice’s bookshelf, “had already been named by the shelter he came from.”

“Lucky Bill,” Bond muttered. The look Q shot him in response was impressively murderous.

“Anything we need to know about staying here?” Moneypenny asked. “Noise curfew, that sort of thing?”

“My landlady would probably appreciate quiet in the evenings,” Beatrice admitted. “She’s very kind, though. She’s helped me out a great deal with adjusting to life here. She even lets me use the piano in her front room with my students.”

“You teach piano?” Bond asked, charmed – but the smile on her face was bittersweet.

“It’s all I knew how to do. There is not much work for a woman my age who was never before allowed to have a job. Piano is the best my husband permitted me to learn, because he liked to hear me play. I’m very lucky to have found work doing that.”

Bond was standing across from Q, and he saw the play of emotions on the young man’s face as Beatrice spoke: sympathy, suppressed rage, and then finally, the wide-eyed light of an idea.

“You should learn to code!” he burst out. “There’s a massive demand for engineers in this area, and with a good portfolio, you don’t need a degree. People take bootcamps and end up with jobs within two or three months!”

Beatrice looked surprised for a moment. Then Bond saw a shadow of the same resignation she’d worn in Rome, sure of her fate. He didn’t like it.

“It’s a good idea, and sweet of you to suggest,” she told Q. “But I know people who work with computers are so smart, and I’m not clever like that. I never have been.”

Bond knew by the way Q’s eyes ignited that she’d said the wrong thing if she wanted him to give up on her. Anne was hiding a smile, too.

“Nonsense.” Q had abandoned his suitcase in the entryway and was already pulling out his laptop. “You learned English as a second language; no programming language is half that difficult. Anyone can learn to code, and anybody who tries to convince you otherwise is just trying to make themself look clever.”

“You know,” Bond couldn’t help teasing, “I seem to remember someone bragging once about how only half a dozen people in the world could understand his inventions.”

“Yes, because I was new to the job, desperately insecure, and trying to make myself seem smarter than everyone else as a defense mechanism. Keep up, Bond. Now, Beatrice, do you have a computer?”

She nodded. “It was a hand-me-down from one of my landlady’s grandchildren. Just a moment.” She went to her desk and returned with a small, boxy white laptop.

“Oh, wow, it’s a white MacBook!” Anne said. “I had one of those in high school!”

Bond immediately felt every one of his forty-odd years.

“Yes, that’ll do nicely,” Q said. “Now, we’re going to start with Python. We’ll probably need to download a few things to get set up.”

“We don’t have internet,” Beatrice said. “We used to use the neighbors’, but then they put a password on it.”

Q smiled, sitting down on the sofa and opening his own laptop. “That won’t be a problem.”

Judging by the ensuing noises of derision, the neighbors hadn’t done a very good job of securing their wifi. Five minutes later, Q and Beatrice were side-by-side, talking about what a variable was, with Anne and Moneypenny watching like proud parents.

Bond decided he’d best get settled in on his own.

—

“So you’re certain this ‘friend’ of yours is trustworthy?” Bond asked, glancing at Q in the rearview mirror. Q felt his eyes begin to roll before the sentence was even finished.

“For the last time, yes. Raj is lovely. The only reason I didn’t suggest staying with him is his obnoxious flatmates. And he’s not a ‘friend’ in quotes; he’s a dear friend. We lived together while I was doing graduate studies at Stanford. If he says this party is the best place to hear rumors about tech companies, it is.”

“I hope your friend is right.” He hadn’t used audible quotes this time, so Q decided to count it as a victory.

“So Q,” Eve asked from the passenger seat after a few more minutes of winding their way up the picturesque highway that snaked along the hills towards San Francisco, skirting the edge of a breathtaking valley backed by forested mountains. “You said there are lots of companies working on cars that drive themselves. What should we be looking out for to identify your stolen tech? Would a company that had it be farther along than the others?”

“Anne is probably a better person to answer that than I am,” Q said. “She’s an AI expert, and that’s the gating technology.” Eve turned obediently to look at Anne, who bit her lip.

“Honestly? True self-driving cars are a long way off. Maybe decades. The kind of sophistication required to make decisions in cases the programmers haven’t anticipated – because there will _always_ be cases the programmers haven’t anticipated – is beyond anything that anyone has now, even us. The closest we had was a car that could be remotely controlled by an agent nearby, but even that had issues, and the research on driverless cars is well and truly shelved. It was a good choice, in my opinion. I think there are more practical uses for AI right now. Of course, the technology would be worth billions, so the private sector is likely to keep trying no matter what.”

“Then maybe we’ll have more luck hunting the mole by asking after companies with young Englishmen working at them,” Eve mused.

“The accents will help with that,” Q told her. “When I lived here, everyone I met was eager to give me a list of all the other Brits they had even the remotest connection to. It was charming, in a bizarre sort of way.”

The plan for the evening was to split into two pairs. Bond would be posing as a partner at a venture capital firm, with Eve as his personal assistant. Q suspected field agents of having some kind of secret power related to formalwear, since both of them had produced flawless looks from seemingly nowhere, while Q and Anne looked like a pair of teenagers at their first school dance.

After some discussion and the fair point that they were here to blend in, not open minds, it had been decided that Q would pose as an AI specialist looking for work and Anne as his girlfriend.

“I’ll do my best not to embarrass you,” he told her when the lights of the city were finally coming into view. “You’re still certain you want to do this?”

Anne nodded, face set. “Even if one of the people from my team is here, there’s just as much of a chance that they’ll recognize you, or even Ms. Moneypenny or Mr. Bond. Er, I mean…” She took a valiant stab at it. “Captain Bond?”

“James, please,” the man in question purred, giving her a smile in the rearview mirror.

“Ignore him,” Eve told a red-faced Anne. “For field agents, flirting is practically automatic.” She then had the nerve to wink and add, “And call me Eve, love.”

“Stop embarrassing my tech,” Q scolded. “She’s not used to you lot yet.”

“Jealous, Q?” Bond asked with a smirk, as Eve shook her head and made tutting noises. Q rolled his eyes and mouthed _Exhibit A_ at Anne, who stifled a laugh. She’d be used to them soon enough. After growing up around Lou’s weird theatre friends, Q hadn’t batted an eyelash when the agents started in on him (to their obvious disappointment – Bond, the bastard, clearly enjoyed seeing people flustered), but he knew most people took some time to adjust.

After a drive through the city that was more of a crawl, they arrived at the parking structure Raj had directed them to. He was waiting for them on the third level, waving and pointing them unnecessarily towards an open spot. Q sighed. Apparently he’d just been lurking in the parking garage in formalwear like a fucking serial killer, waiting for them to arrive. So much for a normal first impression.

“Adam, dude!” he exclaimed as soon as Q had exited the car. Q could see him bouncing on his feet with the desire to pounce. Q wasn’t much of a hugger by nature, but he didn’t mind making exceptions. He’d barely opened his arms before Raj was in them, almost knocking him off his feet and muttering into his shoulder about how “I missed you, man.” Q patted his back and hoped he was doing it right. He knew Raj wouldn’t mind either way. That was one of the things Q had always loved about his friend – the fact that affection didn’t have to be loud and demonstrative for Raj to recognize it.

Introductions were made, and the five of them started making their way towards the party.

“So what’s the plan?” Raj asked as they walked.

“I’m your friend from uni,” Q told him, “fresh off a master’s in AI from Cambridge, with a thesis on applying machine learning to robotics. You’ve convinced me to come join you out here where the jobs are. Anne, to whom those credentials truly belong, will be posing as my girlfriend, because a number of people who claim to be architects of the future are apparently stuck in the nineteen-fifties instead.” Raj gave a sympathetic wince.

“And for similar reasons, I’m his secretary,” Eve said, nodding to Bond.

“You two are VCs, right?” Raj asked. “Or that’s the story?”

“Yes,” Bond said. “Will that be effective? We want people to talk to us.”

Raj laughed so hard he started gasping for breath.

“Oh, my dude,” he said when he recovered. The face Bond made at being addressed thus was an absolute _picture_. “My dude, getting this crowd to talk is _not_ the problem. The problem is getting them to _stop_.”

Outside the garage, the evening was windy and frigid, and they walked quickly. Q could smell the salt coming off the water as they approached the piers. The aquarium the party was being held at was on the near side of Pier 39, sitting just off the shore and over the bay. Q took a deep breath, wished Bond and Eve luck, and prepared to fake enjoyment of strangers’ company for several hours.

The experience was both better and worse than he’d expected. Better, because Raj was there. Q had forgotten how nice it was, having an extravert as a buffer. Normally, schmoozing with strangers made him want to claw his own face off.

Worse, because _dear god_ this couldn’t be the best startup culture had to offer.

“So we thought, microwave ovens are so bulky and inefficient, right? I mean, the technology’s barely changed in fifty years,” someone they’d just met was expounding. Q was attempting to listen, but even with Raj’s presence, the noise and crowds were starting to get to him. His mind wandered until his attention was drawn back by the words, “like a heat gun you point at your food and – _bam!_ – all the microwaves go where you actually need them.”

“Holy _shit_ ,” Q said before he could stop himself.

“I know, right?” the man asked, clearly misinterpreting his reaction. “Like, it sounds so simple once you hear it, you know? But apparently nobody’s ever thought of it before.”

Q felt faint.

“Wow,” Anne said once Raj had steered them away. “I think that was worse than the tree-trimming AI drone.”

“The version with the chainsaw, yeah, I’ll give you that,” Raj said. “But if they go with the lasers, Flying Arborist Murderbot beats Kitchen Death Ray any day.”

“Fucking Christ.” Q shook his head. “These people have been reading too many comic books.”

At Raj’s suggestion, they fought their way through the crowd to the lower floor, where a glass tunnel looped out underneath the water of the bay. It was busy with people marveling at the sea life, but dim enough that Q felt himself relax a little.

“You doing okay?” Raj muttered while Anne was distracted watching a shark swim by, her nose to the glass and mouth open in awe.

“Surviving,” Q said, and Raj touched his back briefly.

“If you need outta here at any point, man, just say the word. I’ll find an excuse.”

Q gave him a grateful smile, because he couldn’t say that leaving wasn’t an option. That this information was too important; that he would let the noise and the lights and the crowds wear him down to his bones before he gave up a chance to find Anne’s assailant. Watching her go up on tiptoes in excitement, hands clenched around the rail and bathed in blue light, he felt more connected than ever to Eve and her protectiveness over civilians. Anne and the other members of Q-Branch were _his_ , not to command but to look after, and nobody was allowed to do them harm.

Bolstered, he took a deep breath and prepared to rejoin the fray.

When Anne turned from the window, though, she looked sick and a little haunted.

“Want a break?” Q asked, all thoughts of the investigation forgotten, and she nodded.

The two of them stepped out of the party and walked down the pier, past the closed shops and the darkened carousel, until they reached the viewing deck at the end. To the left, the glowing lights of the Golden Gate bridge were visible in the distance, marking the border with the open ocean; the Bay Bridge shone off to their right. The city rose behind them on a bright, glimmering hill, and ahead, the bay was a black abyss. Q knew most people wouldn’t have found that as comforting as he did. There was something peaceful about darkness, though, and he wasn’t afraid of it. He knew better than most that light wouldn’t keep the monsters away.

“Thanks,” Anne whispered. She seemed to be recovering – at least enough to notice the temperature, which she did with a violent, almost offended shiver. “God, it’s frigid out here. I thought California was warm.”

“Mostly it is,” Q said. “But their ocean’s fucking freezing, which I found out the hard way, so it’s always cold on the water. Want my jacket?”

Anne shook her head. “I don’t think my pride could take it right now, after playing your trophy girlfriend. I nearly committed at least one homicide.”

“The one who referred to you as my waifu?” Q guessed. “If you change your mind about killing him, I will absolutely help. Disposing of the body wouldn’t even be difficult; did you see how many sharks are in the water here?”

“Tempting,” Anne said with a smile. “But I’ve been dealing with pricks like him my whole life; that I can handle when I have to.” She shook her head and leaned on the wooden railing, looking out over the dark water. “No, d’you know what it was that really got to me? It was remembering that we have to walk back to the garage at the end of the party. Is that stupid?”

“No,” Q told her simply, leaning on his arms next to her.

“It’s been almost a week. I thought I’d be better by now. But as soon as we got out of the car, it all came back. I feel like I’m going to die every time I cross a road, and I don’t know why. Nothing even happened to me.”

“It doesn’t work like that,” Q said, softly. Both of them were still looking out over the bay, side by side. “That kind of fear – the kind that comes when you’re facing death – doesn’t just go away. It sits on your shoulder, stays with you. Becomes a part of you, even. Sometimes that’s the price for survival.”

He felt Anne turn to look at him. She didn’t have to ask the question.

“Back when we were investigating Spectre,” he said without turning, “I took a message to Bond in Austria. On my way back to my hotel, a pair of Oberhauser’s thugs almost trapped me in a ski lift. I didn’t realize their intent at first, but there was a moment – a moment when the act came down, and it sunk in what they meant to do. I’ve never experienced anything like it. Not just fear, but the vindication of fear. The realization that you were right to be afraid. That’s the part that really latches onto you.”

“What did you do?” Anne whispered.

“Ran. Lost them in a crowd. Then went back to my hotel room and had a breakdown. Nearly made myself sick. Came within a heartbeat of stabbing a pencil into my own arm, because for some reason it felt for a moment like that was the only thing that would keep me from flying apart. Then breathed for a while, washed my face, and pulled myself together in time before Bond and his ladyfriend arrived. They never knew.” He closed his eyes. “Because it sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it? We work with people who see the worst the world has to offer. But oh, the Quartermaster dodged a couple of thugs once, and now he sometimes works overnight because he’s too afraid to go home.”

Anne was silent for a long moment. Finally, she asked, “How do you handle it?”

“One day at a time. And so will you. You’re strong. It may leave a scar, but you’ll pick yourself up and keep going either way. And right now, while you’re still bleeding, it’s all right if you’re _not_ all right. Because you’re not alone.” He felt his voice crack at the end, and Anne was silent for a moment.

“Was that your first time telling someone?” she finally asked, voice soft. “About Austria?”

“Yes,” he whispered, and felt her squeeze his hand.

They stood out there, silent, for a long time. When they finally turned to walk back, Q felt a little of the weight he’d been carrying stay behind.

—

“Good morning.” Bond beamed at a bleary Q, the last to stumble to Beatrice’s small kitchen table. The Quartermaster slid onto the borrowed piano bench next to Anne, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“Someone’s in a good mood,” Q commented, plucking a pancake off the stack and taking a bite out of it plain. He blinked. “God, this is good.”

“Someone turned up useful information last night, which you would know if you hadn’t fallen asleep in the car,” Bond told him smugly. “And I know.” He didn’t add that most of his good mood was because he and Beatrice had cooked before Q could ruin another meal for them.

Q perked up. “Useful information?”

“We think we’ve found our culprit,” Eve clarified, handing him a cup of tea. The adoration with which Q looked at her made Bond roll his eyes fondly. The young man would make a rubbish field agent.

“Do tell,” Q said. Anne looked curious, too, which pleased Bond. She’d been quiet on the drive home the night before. It wasn’t hard to figure out why. Even if Bond didn’t have a lifetime’s experience of seeing through women’s brave faces, Q’s worrying over her was about as subtle as a tonne of bricks. Bond suspected neither had slept well.

“A startup called Drivr, without the ‘e’,” Eve started, and Q groaned. “Yes, I know, darling, but save your displeasure; we haven’t even gotten started. They’re currently trying to launch an app, though they’ve run up against some legal issues with the State of California. Apparently their service allows ‘passengers’ to request a car – but unlike other ridesharing services, the car is remotely controlled by a ‘driver’ via the internet.”

Q was making a face very much like the time 004 had shown him her bomb-defusing selfie. Anne just looked shell-shocked. Bond couldn’t blame them.

Q recovered first.

“What are we waiting for?” He shoved the rest of the pancake into his mouth, leaning over to pluck his laptop off the arm of the couch, and continued with his mouth full. “Let’s find these shitheads!”

“Good Lord, Q,” Bond said. “Your manners are atrocious.” Q flicked him off and opened his laptop.

“Apparently they’re very secretive,” Eve said. “According to their rivals – who couldn’t wait to share dirt on them – their official headquarters really only handle their front end, and they’ve got a secret facility where the sensitive information is kept. I’d be willing to bet that ‘sensitive information’ includes some of the stolen Q-Branch research.”

“Is there a way to find it?” Beatrice asked. “I think I’m understanding right – the ‘front’ end is like a store that customers can visit, isn’t it? And the ‘back’ end is like the factory, which makes the products? So this secret facility is the back end?”

“Exactly,” Anne said, beaming. “That’ll be where the servers that actually control the cars are, where the code they stole is running.”

Beatrice nodded, face creased in a look of concentration that twinged at Bond’s heart. “But they have to communicate, correct? So the front end can send orders, and the back end can fill them? Is there a way to tell where the communications are going, or is that not possible?”

“Oh, it’s possible,” Q said. “But it’s considerably more work than just being shown where the execs are right now.” He spun his computer around with a bright smile. “First lesson of hacking: every system has a massive weakness, and that weakness is the people using it. All the security in the world won’t hide you when your COO posts location-tagged photos on Instagram using his real name. He and the other officers are on a corporate retreat in Pacific Grove, about fifty miles south of here.”

“Oh, excellent.” Moneypenny’s lips curled up as she reached forward to start paging through the photos. “An oversharer. Do you think he’s as careless with information in person?”

“I think we ought to find out,” Bond said.

Before leaving, they had to wait while Q kissed each of his cats on the head, promised to see them soon, and arranged to call Beatrice later for another lesson. Really, it was as if they were leaving for a month, instead of a single day.

Their drive to Pacific Grove took them first through the southern tip of the lush valley from which the area got its nickname. As they wound their way up a narrow highway that would cross the mountains to the coast, they emerged from the dense evergreen trees for a moment to a view of a long, narrow reservoir.

“ _Fire danger today is ‘high’?_ ” Anne read off a sign they were passing, sounding alarmed.

“It always is,” Q said. “California’s a lovely state that may as well be built out of dry kindling. Toss a cigarette without putting it out properly and you could burn down half a county. They’ve learnt to adjust – firecrackers are banned, bonfires on the beach where there’s nothing to catch, and so on. So it’s good to take seriously, but don’t let it frighten you. Bad fires rarely happen this early in the year. The real danger won’t come until summer, when they haven’t had even a light rain for months.” He paused to consider. “Though there’s always the earthquakes. Those _are_ unpredictable.”

“Q, love,” Moneypenny commented, “has anyone ever told you that you’re rubbish at being reassuring?”

“Frequently,” Q said. He made a face. “I suppose I personally find it reassuring to have as much information as possible, and I forget that some people prefer not knowing. I apologize.”

“No, it’s good to know,” Anne said loyally. She was like a puppy. Bond suspected that she’d even find something positive to say about Q’s cooking.

“I’m just teasing,” Moneypenny assured him. “You know we love you just the way you are, darling.”

“Leave the circumspection to the politicians,” Bond agreed. “It wouldn’t suit you anyway.” Privately, he suspected he and Q saw the world similarly, though Bond was much better at putting on the mask people expected. Once upon a time, he’d wondered if that made him a sociopath. Lately, it didn’t seem worth the energy to worry about it. Q was proof enough that someone missing that natural instinct could still be a well of good and empathy. If he and Eve weren’t questioning Bond’s actions, it seemed pointless for Bond to do so.

(Not that he’d ever let them know. Using someone else as your moral compass was the kind of thing Bond suspected would cause people undue worry – as well as the kind of thing Double-O’s weren’t supposed to admit to. It helped maintain the polite fiction that they were sane, normal people.)

They arrived at Pacific Grove in the early afternoon. The conference center was a sprawl of winding paths and low buildings that covered a hillside not far from the ocean. As they entered the hall that housed Reception, Bond took a moment to admire the rustic architecture while hoping that the amenities in the rooms would be less so.

For the sake of simplicity, they followed the amusingly heteronormative tradition of booking one room for the men and one for the women. Bond entertained himself with wondering where Anne’s preferences lay. Her devotion to Q struck Bond more as platonic hero-worship than anything else. She’d blushed at both Bond’s and Eve’s flirting with her, but that didn’t account for much. Maybe she’d give him another clue; maybe not. Beyond idle curiosity, it didn’t matter to him.

Once they’d gotten settled, Bond and Moneypenny set out to reconnoiter while the two techs stayed behind. Their research had turned up a novel-writing conference being held at the same time as the retreat, and the plan was to pose as attendees to that event.

There was little to discover throughout the afternoon besides the layout of the complex. Moneypenny chatted up a couple of the novelists and relayed some details of the sessions they’d been attending, but Bond doubted anyone from the tech retreat would care enough to fact-check them.

A real chance at information came at dinnertime. The conference center boasted a large dining hall in the same rustic style as the other buildings, with cafeteria-style open seating. Bond scanned the room, picking out the groups from Drivr. It wasn’t difficult. The novelists were primarily female and spanned a range of ages, whereas the startup’s employees were overwhelmingly young and male.

He watched Eve approach a table of them. He couldn’t hear what was being said, but her body language made it clear she’d decided to play dumb and shallow. A good bet against this crowd.

Bond loitered by the drinks, feigning a phone call, until he spotted the man he’d hoped to: the oversharing COO, Josh Weber. He entered with a pair of friends, and Bond wrapped up his fake phone call, timing it so that Weber arrived at the drinks table as Bond was pouring his coffee.

“Not exactly spoiled for choice, are we?” he remarked casually, adopting an American accent. “If the conference had warned me this place was _sober_ I would’ve turned them down.”

“Right?” Weber agreed. “I mean, we could’ve been staying at a fuckin’ _resort_ , but our CEO is obsessed with the feng shui here or something.” He rolled his eyes. “I dunno about you, man, but to me this place just says _sad_ and _old_. But hey, you’re from the writing conference, huh? I bet you guys eat that shit up. Atmosphere or whatever.”

Bond grimaced. “Guest speaker. But you’re not wrong about the novelists. If I have to listen to one more twenty-year-old in a cardigan pitch her paranormal romance novel…” He mimed holding a gun to his own head, and Weber burst out laughing. It was almost too easy. Disdain for authority and casual misogyny reeled in men like this with no effort at all. Less than thirty seconds after meeting him, Bond had an invitation to join Weber for dinner.

They sat down at a table already half-full, and Bond scanned the faces. None of them matched the staff photos of the surveillance team.

“So this is, uh…” Weber paused.

“James Stirling,” Bond introduced himself. “Stirling Literary Agency.”

_“Fuck you,”_ Q griped halfheartedly through his Bluetooth headset. _“You were supposed to be an aspiring novelist. Now you need a bloody website in case one of them looks you up.”_ Bond heard the sound of annoyed typing.

“This is Eric,” Weber introduced the man across from him. That would be Eric Norwood, CEO. Bond committed his face to memory. “He’s a fuckin’ visionary. We’re gonna change the world, once the fuckin’ idiots who run this state stop getting in our way.”

“Idiots who think they run the state,” Norwood corrected. He was dressed in remarkably casual clothing for a CEO and had a bowl of some horrific health-slop in front of him. Bond instantly disliked him. “That’s the problem. Tech is the beating heart of California, and it’s being legislated by people who can barely turn on a computer. Without us this state would be nothing.”

Bond declined to point out California’s large agriculture, film, and tourism industries. It was obvious Norwood had the kind of god complex that couldn’t take disagreements. Disappointing, really. Bond had been hoping for someone more interesting.

He made a noise of assent and turned his attention to the other individuals Weber was introducing. None of them stood out to him, though he made a note of Hunter McCarthy, the head of security. McCarthy had the cold, perpetually-angry look of a man who liked to solve problems with violence. Bond knew the type. Probably a coward facing someone his own size and certainly not a threat to Bond or Moneypenny, but someone he’d keep the techs away from. Men like that loved to hurt people who couldn’t fight back.

“And then there’s Alex,” Weber added, catching Bond’s attention. Alexander Osbourne, the CTO, whose bio on the Drivr website had been almost nonexistant. “The guy’s a fuckin’ genius. Did all the code for our app himself.”

“That’s remarkable,” Bond said, pasting on a smile. “I’m sorry to have missed him – he’s not here?”

“Nah, he spends most of his time at the labs,” Weber said. “But he’s not exactly the life of the party, unless you wanna hear movie conspiracy theories from a nerdy British dude.”

Bond heard Anne’s gasp and Q’s hiss in his ear.

“British?” he asked, feigning confusion. Bond didn’t miss the look of warning Norwood shot Weber, far more damning than any other piece of evidence.

“Yeah,” Weber said. “But anyway, that’s it. The dream team. Well, unless you count Julie.”

McCarthy snorted. “Julie doesn’t count.”

“She’s our real estate agent,” Weber explained to Bond. “Got us the land for our labs and shit in the central valley, and now she’s busy picking us up lots for our cars. That’s why she’s not here; she’s closing on one today.” He looked to Norwood. “Any word on that, by the way? The Saratoga lot?” Norwood shot him another glare, and he shrugged and turned back to Bond. “Well, last I heard she’s supposed to be here tomorrow. About time. I wanna have a bonfire, but what’s the point if there’s no chicks?” His eyes lit up. “Hey, you think you could get some of those writer girls to come?”

The rest of the meal yielded little else of use. Wary of arousing Norwood’s suspicions, Bond held back from pumping Weber for more information and instead attempted to keep his brain from rotting while the man talked.

When he returned to the room, Q didn’t even look up from his computer – just held out a bottle of red wine.

“What’s the occasion?” Bond asked, raising an eyebrow as he accepted it.

“None,” Q said, still focused on what he was doing. “But I thought you might need a drink after an hour of listening to that dreck, and this was the best I could do. There’s another bottle if one’s not enough.”

“I’m not sure whether that was a comment on my dinner company or my drinking habits,” Bond remarked with a smile, crossing to consider the hotel drinks tray and ultimately choosing the water glasses over the mugs. “I suppose we’ll have to make do with these.”

“‘We’? I’m not drinking with you, double-oh-seven.”

“Don’t be that way. There’s nothing useful left to do tonight; you may as well.”

“Sorry, but I’m not in the mood for making bad decisions at the moment.”

“Bad decisions?” Bond asked, delighted. “Q, are you an embarrassing drunk?”

“What? No!” But he’d started to blush.

“Tell me,” Bond coaxed. “What is it? Do you get sloppy and sentimental, like Moneypenny?”

“No.”

“Are you going to start singing or dancing?”

“No! God, no.”

“Oh, I know what it is. You’re a cheap date.” Q sputtered, face turning bright red, and Bond grinned. “Don’t worry; I wouldn’t take advantage like that. Your virtue is safe with me.”

Q rolled his eyes, looking exasperated, and Bond frowned. It was rare that he succeeded at getting the young man into such a good dither, and now he’d somehow lost his momentum.

“What is it?” he murmured, sitting down on the edge of the bed. Q didn’t answer – just squirmed uncomfortably under Bond’s scrutiny, still half-turned in his desk chair.

Was it the flirting? Bond took great pleasure in flirting, as a rule. It was harmless fun, and to be honest, he found the line between banter and flirtation blurry at the best of times. Q usually seemed to enjoy it, had never appeared offended. But perhaps that wasn’t the problem. He’d mistaken Moneypenny’s teasing earlier for true criticism; perhaps he thought he was being mocked?

“I do mean it,” he promised. “I’d get much more enjoyment out of drinking this if you joined me.”

“I know you would,” Q said, turning back to his computer with another eye-roll. “Unfortunately, I’ve better things to do than be your entertainment for the evening.”

Oh. So that _was_ it.

“Q, you know you’re worth more than a bit of entertainment value to me.”

“Of course I know that.” Q’s voice was light, but he didn’t turn. “I’m also very clever.”

Bond shook his head, saddened. “You really think so little of yourself?”

Q turned back around, blinking. “Well, it’s true, isn’t it? I provide the gadgets and sometimes a good laugh. Oh, don’t make that face. I’m an adult and a realist; I’ve made my peace with it. I know I’m useful, which is something. I’d be quite difficult to replace.”

Bond was taken aback by how angry those words made him. He knew better than most that nobody was irreplacable. He’d thought, after Vesper, that he’d never recover – but time had knit him back together slowly, surely. And he’d imagined, foolishly, that MI6 needed him – god, if not him, _surely_ it needed M – but their deaths had been ripples, nothing more. Without them, the world had continued to turn.

Bond knew losing this Q, of whom he was so fond, would break him again – but not forever. Not past healing. So why did having it pointed out bother him so much?

It wasn’t the words, he realized, watching Q watch him with an awkward attempt at a light smile. It was the way he’d said them, so calm and accepting. Bond knew he took advantage of Q’s affection for him more than he ought. He’d always imagined a confrontation someday when the young man realized what was happening. It had never occurred to Bond that he was already aware. That he allowed himself to be used.

“Christ,” Bond said. “You mean it, don’t you? We could drop you just like Silva, abandon you to rot in a hole somewhere, and you’d sit in your hole and think, _Well, I’m sure they had a go at rescuing me._ You’d never turn.” He could see it now, that blazing loyalty of Q’s. His body would never outlast it. Bond shook his head. “But that doesn’t matter. Because Moneypenny, I, hell, your new little sister in there—” He nodded towards the other room. “—we’d never let it come to that, with or without your stupid bloody gadgets. We’d tear the world apart to find you.”

Q stared back at him, wordless with shock. After a moment, he extended a visibly shaking hand. He looked wrecked. “I’ll take that drink now, thanks.”

Bond passed him the bottle.

“You don’t fuck around,” Q told him as they settled out on the balcony a short time later. His voice was still unsteady. “Right for the heart.” He handed over the bottle, and Bond, who’d abandoned the glasses inside, accepted it and took a swig.

“No time for it,” he said. “I find it’s easier to be direct.”

“Right, makes sense.”

They fell silent for a few minutes, passing the wine back and forth as Q got himself under control. By the time he got up and returned with the second bottle, he’d recovered enough for a smile as he sat and stared up into the night sky.

“Speaking of Eve when she’s drunk, did anyone tell you about Tanner’s last birthday, the one you were out of the country for?”

“No,” said Bond, taking pity on him and allowing the obvious change of subject. “What happened?”

“Well, she was grumbling about Mallory. You know how she does.” Bond nodded. “Complaining about… something or other. I forget. Anyway, some poor fool decided to agree. Said Mallory was a hard-ass.”

“What an idiot.”

“Right? Anyone who’s spent five minutes with her knows she’s the only one allowed to criticise him like that. Except she was drunk enough that instead of a telling-off, he got a soppy, tearful speech about how amazing Mallory is, and how hard he works for us, and how lucky we are to have him as a boss. I swear she was about ready to start declaiming to the whole pub when we calmed her down.”

Bond huffed a laugh, able to imagine it perfectly.

“Oi,” Moneypenny’s voice called over from the next balcony. “Are you two drinking and gossiping without me?”

“Quit eavesdropping,” Bond told her. “But while you’re here, tell Q what you’d do if someone hurt him.”

“I’d gut them with my fingernails,” she said easily, leaning on the balcony railing. “Pass over the wine, would you?”

“Get your own,” said Bond.

Moneypenny gave him an exaggerated frown. “You’re sharing with Q.”

Instead of pointing out that it was the other way around, Bond said, “Q’s never shot me. He made me a gun that _won’t_ shoot me.”

“Er, to be fair,” said Q, “I didn’t so much make the gun myself as facilitate cooperation between the firearms and biometrics teams. Credit where credit is due and all. They worked very hard.”

“Speaking of working hard,” Moneypenny said, casually climbing over the railing to join them on their balcony, “Anne’s in there working with Beatrice on something. Weren’t you working with her as well today, before dinner?”

Q nodded, eyes lighting up at the mention of his student. “She’s incredible. Like a sponge. I get tired out and she keeps going on her own. I’ve never met anyone with such a thirst for knowledge.” His face turned serious, sad. He was abysmal at hiding his emotions at the best of times, and the wine had made him an open book. “It makes me appreciate what a privilege my education was, you know? I had all these opportunities and I just took them for granted. I _complained_ about my _homework_ like a wanker. Meanwhile women who aren’t allowed to learn just want it _so much_ , and it’s not fair. Whoever did that to Beatrice should be – should be…” His imagination seemed to fail him.

“If you’ll accept ‘booted out of a helicopter’,” Bond said, “I have some good news for you.”

The fond smile Q gave him for that confession of murder would probably have disturbed someone outside their line of work. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

—

Julie the Real Estate Agent arrived the next day. Anne witnessed this because both of the field agents were busy charming their new Drivr friends, so she and Q were in charge of watching Reception. Luckily, it was located in a large hall that also housed a fireplace, a café, and a pair of pool tables, so the two were able to hang around without drawing attention.

A well-dressed ‘Julie Hart’ checked in around lunchtime, and a quick scroll through Josh Weber’s Instagram confirmed she was the one they were looking for.

“We should leave first,” Anne whispered. “So it’s not obvious we’re getting up to follow her. We can stop outside the door to look at a map or something and let her pass us.”

“Clever,” Q said, rising and collecting his bag. “I like it.”

The ruse seemed to work – the woman passed them while they were bent over Anne’s phone, appearing to take no notice of them. They gave her a head start before following. Rather than going for stealth, they played tourists-trying-to-navigate. When she disappeared into a ground-floor room, they continued around the corner of another building before ducking back.

“We did it!” Anne hissed triumphantly into her earpiece. “We know where she’s staying.”

“That’s brilliant,” Eve said. It sounded as though she was replying to something one of her lunch companions had said, but Anne could tell it was for the two of them.

“Shall we keep watching her?” Q asked. There was no immediate reply, but a moment later, James could be heard excusing himself from his table.

“No,” he murmured once he’d presumably stepped away. “Sitting in the social hall is one thing; this could get you caught. Go back to the rooms. I’ll take over surveillance of her.”

“Wait,” Q said. “It looks like she’s leaving again.”

“Don’t follow her,” James said. “Just let her go. We know what she looks like now.”

Q wasn’t paying attention, though. His eyes were fixed on Ms. Hart’s room. “She left her laptop on the desk!”

“Q,” James said, “ _no._ ”

Q turned to Anne. “Keep a lookout for me, will you?”

“ _No_ ,” James hissed. “Anne, do not let your department head commit a B&E.”

“Um.” Anne hesitated. The building was one of the older ones, and Q had already gotten the ancient window lock popped and was currently wriggling through the half-open window. She heard James swear in the background.

“Quit worrying,” Q said. “I’m already in. Won’t be a moment.”

Anne took a nervous look around as James continued to swear colorfully. She couldn’t see anyone coming, but the illegality of what they were doing kept her bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“Here we go,” Q said, opening the laptop that had been left sitting on the desk. Anne took another scan of the surroundings as he typed quickly, startling when he gave a vicious hiss. “ _Shit_.”

“What?” James demanded. “Is everything all right?”

“Oh, fine,” Q said, “except that she’s apparently the only person on the bloody planet who keeps her software up to date. They patched my favorite exploit a _week_ ago and she already has the fix, _fuck_.”

James sighed audibly over the headset. “I’ll assume by the cursing that you don’t have another way in.”

“Not starting with the computer shut off, no. I mean, give me a few weeks and a copy of the new OS to take apart and I’ll have one, but until then, well… without the password, we’re fucked.”

“What’s her password hint?” Anne asked. “Maybe we can guess it.”

“Checking now. Oh, interesting. _M M dash D D dash Y Y Y Y._ Her password’s a date. Bond, I don’t suppose you have eyes on her? Oh, you don’t know what she looks like, do you.”

“I’ll send you a photo,” Anne said, taking a quick screenshot of the Instagram post still open on her phone.

James gave a murmur of thanks. “I’m passing the main hall. I’ll have a look inside.” Anne heard him go from outdoors to indoors, thanks to all the background noise that their cheap commercial earpieces were picking up. “Yes, she’s at the café.”

“Perfect,” Q said. “Flirt with her and see if you can fish up any significant dates, would you?”

“Just like that?” James’s tone was dry, but Anne could tell he was amused. “Well, if you insist.” A moment later, he was audible introducing himself and beginning to make pleasant smalltalk. Anne had to admit, she was impressed. It took him all of a minute and a half before they were sat together, flirting shamelessly.

“Try her birthday first,” Q suggested.

“Family’s birthdays too, maybe,” Anne suggested.

“Yes, and graduations.”

“Or maybe when she started her job!”

“Yes,” James told Ms. Hart, “I’m the agency’s founder. It’s hard work, but I find it’s worth it not to have people breathing down my neck, telling me how to do my job.” His tone was light, teasing.

“Ouch,” Anne said, hearing Q snort with laughter. “Guess we deserved that.”

“All right, all right, message received, Bond. Just feed us the dates.”

Anne had always assumed that the double-O’s deadliness was what set them apart from regular field agents, but listening to the conversation over the headset, she realized she’d been wrong. It wasn’t their number of blackbelts or their range scores which made them exceptional. It was their creativity – whether that came in the form of what Eve had called ‘tactical flexiblity’, or now, as James seamlessly mainpulated his mark into bringing up astrology and then proceeded to extract the birthdays of every important person in her life. She didn’t even sound suspicious.

“None of them yet,” Q relayed.

James was talking about the most important days in his fictional life, now – and sure enough, Ms. Hart took the bait and contributed hers.

“I met Eric two years ago,” she divulged. “Can you believe it – he crashed my birthday party. Always been a bold one.”

Anne heard the sound of rapid typing, then a hiss of disappointment from Q.

“Damn, that sounded so promising.”

“Wait,” Anne said, pulling out her phone to flip through the calendar. “She said birthday _party_.” Sure enough, when she scrolled two years back, “Yes! The fifteenth was a Wednesday that year. Try the seventeeth and the eighteenth.”

“Fuck, you’re a genius!” Q said. “I’m in! Bond, keep her distracted for five more minutes.”

Anne kept an increasingly fidgety watch as James continued to flirt and Q swiftly made himself a backdoor into the computer.

Five tense minutes later, she was helping her department head crawl back through the window.

_Holy crap_ , she thought as they hurried back to their own rooms. _I just helped my boss commit a felony. …And it was WAY more fun than it should have been._

—

Thanks to the magic of American ISPs (and here Q was being _entirely_ sarcastic), they’d already been back at Beatrice’s for half a day by the time he’d finished copying the contents of Julie Hart’s hard drive.

Once it was finished, Q ordered enough takeaway for a small army, gave Beatrice the Very Serious Speech about the ethics of surveillance as well as a quick lesson on regular expressions, then divided up the information to comb through.

Predictably, it only took a couple hours for the two agents to get bored. Beatrice was flagging too, though she was trying to hide it. Q didn’t blame them. Without the tolerance he and Anne had built up for slogging through data, this aspect of spycraft was incredibly draining.

Through a caffeine-fueled night and part of the next day, a picture began to emerge. Julie Hart was organized to a fault, color-coding and all. She gave Josh Weber an enormous amount of ‘help’ and was the only reason he hadn’t completely failed as COO. However, she was shut out of some of Drivr’s more secretive operations.

Q couldn’t shake the suspicion that the company was dirty. Keeping Weber in the dark made sense – Bond’s first conversation with the man had made it clear he couldn’t keep a secret. That would also explain why Hart, who seemed to communicate primarily with Weber, didn’t have any incriminating data on her laptop.

Norwood, though – he knew their technology was stolen from MI6. Q was sure of it. The CEO’s address wasn’t hard to find. He lived in a ludicrous mansion in Monte Sereno, one of the southernmost towns in Silicon Valley. Would he keep evidence at his home? Perhaps, perhaps not. Q filed it away as a possible location of interest.

More compelling was the company’s main R&D facility, located in California’s Central Valley. Weber had mentioned Alex Osbourne, the CTO, spending most of his time there. With the confirmation that Osbourne was English and the complete lack of photos of him, Q was almost certain that they’d found their mole. Now they just needed evidence linking him to the data thefts, or to the attempt on Anne’s life. Q wasn’t sure about the latter, but he was almost certain the former would be found at the R&D center.

While the others continued sifting through data, he hacked into the facility’s network and started going through their source code. Within a few hours, however, a problem became obvious.

“There’s a piece missing,” he explained to his companions. “Files that are referenced but don’t appear anywhere I can find. And Osbourne’s machine isn’t connected to the network, either. The bastard knew MI6 might come after him. I’d bet anything that he’s keeping the stolen code on an offline machine to keep me away from it.”

“So what now?” Bond asked. “We’re not walking you into their bloody headquarters to get at it. Can Eve or I do it? What’s involved, besides getting access to the computer?”

“It might not even require that. Proximity is probably enough. Keeping a computer off the internet is an easy way to protect data from a distance, but true air-gapping requires more than switching off the wifi. I’d be willing to bet that Osbourne’s machine still has Bluetooth enabled, which means even taking a device into his office would allow me to compromise it.”

“Then we don’t even need to break in,” Eve said. “One of us can go in under a pretext and plant it. Easy.”

“I’ll do it,” Bond said. “You socialized with too many of their engineers at the conference. Someone will recognize you.”

Eve raised an eyebrow. “And your making friends with the execs is safer? Weber may be an idiot, but Norwood and that security chief of his aren’t. Not to mention Hart.”

“Well, it’s not as though we can send in one of them,” Bond argued, gesturing to Q and Anne. “If Osbourne’s the mole, he worked with them both. It’s going to have to be you or me.”

“No it isn’t,” Beatrice said. Everyone turned to her.

“Beatrice,” Bond said carefully, “this could be dangerous.”

“Please,” Beatrice said. “After my husband and his friends? I am not afraid of children playing supervillain.”

“I know you’re not.” The look Bond gave her was soft, private. “You got out, though. Are you certain you want to go back in?”

Beatrice looked to Anne. “This Osbourne. He’s the man who tried to run you down?”

“We think so,” Anne said.

Beatrice nodded decisively. “Tell me how I get in.”

—

James and Eve were good at hiding it, but they were nervous. Q and Anne were not good at hiding it. Beatrice suspected she might be the only one in the group who wasn’t nervous.

“Anne,” she said, hoping to distract the young woman from her fretting as they drove steadily towards the man who’d tried to kill her. “Tell me more about the work you mentioned last night. Your AI animals.”

Anne took the bait beautifully, face lighting up. “I can show you! I have a few of them here on my mobile. Here, this is the first one I ever made, Legs. Not the most original name, I know.” She shoved the smartphone across the car at Beatrice. In her enthusiasm, she didn’t seem to realize that she was blocking Q’s view of his computer where he sat in the middle seat. In an attempt to help, Beatrice took the phone.

She saw… a pair of legs, attached to nothing from the waist up. They were jogging awkwardly through a digital obstacle course.

“I didn’t even have to teach her to run; she taught herself!” Anne smiled at the screen like a proud mother. “Of course, then I realized that bipedalism isn’t the most efficient form of movement, so I started working on Lucky here.” She took her phone back and tapped at it a few times, then handed it back. This time, there was a four-legged, vaguely doglike creature on the screen.

“And you don’t control the movement?” Beatrice asked.

“Nope!” Anne said, taking her phone back again. “I don’t even control the obstacles. They’re procedurally generated.” She made a few more selections. “This is the one I’ve been working on most recently. Gwen. Isn’t she beautiful?”

‘Beautiful’ was a subjective term. The digital creature on the phone this time was some kind of huge robotic spider. Anne gazed at it adoringly.

“ _Please_ ,” Q sighed in desperation. Beatrice realized guiltily that she and Anne had been leaning in over him to watch the spider move.

“Now, now, children,” Eve said smugly from the front seat. “Settle down. Don’t make your father stop this car.”

“Eve,” James said through gritted teeth, “I swear to God…”

Some bickering was inevitable when five adults shared a compact car for two hours, but overall, the journey went smoothly. Once they’d crossed the California Coast Ranges into the Central Valley, the terrain flattened out. The highway was straight and unchanging, trucks frequently passing by, and stretches of farmland interrupted endless fields of dead yellow grass.

Beatrice was glad she’d dressed for warm weather. When they climbed out of the car at a rest stop near the Drivr facility, the sun was already beating down on them, drying out the ground and air. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky for shade.

“Remember the distress signal,” Q said as Beatrice climbed into the driver’s seat. “We’re only half a mile from the facility; Bond or Moneypenny could run that in three minutes. If anything goes wrong, anything at all, we’ll get you out of there.”

Beatrice smiled at him to show her gratitude, but she wasn’t afraid. This company wasn’t SPECTRE. Nothing was SPECTRE. Besides, she was giving them something they wanted – a politician whose attention they’d been begging for. Osbourne had sounded jubliant about finally receiving a reply to one of his many, many emails, proposing a visit by one of the politician’s staff members.

Sure enough, it only took identifying herself at the gate before she was waved through to park the car. She took a deep breath, put on a smile, and crossed the parking lot briskly. Her heels clicked on the hot pavement.

The main building was large and boxy, with no windows on the ground floor. The tall double doors at the entrance opened slowly as she approached them. She glanced up and saw a security camera above them, looking down at her.

When she entered the lobby, the cool shock of the air conditioning took her breath away for a moment. A smiling receptionist prattled on while getting her a badge on a lanyard, then showed her over to an elegant seating area with a tray of snacks and a coffee bar. Beatrice turned down the offers of refreshment and took a seat.

Some five minutes later, Alex Osbourne arrived to meet her. He was an unassuming man: average height, face that was neither attractive nor unattractive, smile as false as hers.

“Mrs. Mariani,” he said, shaking her hand and holding it a moment too long. “We’re so honored to have you here. Please, follow me.”

Beatrice knew that James or one of the others would have been cataloguing the building and its security as they walked, but she didn’t know what to look for. Instead, she focused on reading Osbourne as he bragged about his company and his work. He was obviously arrogant and self-centered. Dangerous when angry, she guessed, but ultimately a coward. It fit the behavior of the man who’d tried to kill Anne by remote control.

She almost froze when he led her into his office. She’d been expecting opulance, but not… whatever this was.

“What do you think?” Osbourne asked, and she forced her face into something neutral.

“You have an impressive collection of dolls,” she said, looking around at the shelves ringing the large room.

Osbourne’s face turned sour. “They’re action figures. Do you have any idea what this collection is worth?”

“I can’t imagine,” Beatrice said. The admiring look slid onto her face easily after decades of practice. “I’ve never seen this many action figures in one place.”

Osbourne smiled, appeased. “Some of them are incredibly rare, too. Would you like to see?”

He seemed to have forgotten about the reason for her visit, but Beatrice nodded and let him start leading her around the shelves and rambling about his dolls, most of which seemed to be costumed heroes. She kept enough attention on him to make impressed noises while looking for a place to plant the phone Q had given her.

Her opportunity came when they reached a remote-controlled toy car. Osbourne was eager to show off his ability to control it with his phone, looking through a miniature camera on the car’s front.

“This was the prototype for our whole operation,” he explained. “Watch how responsive it is.”

As he demonstrated, eyes fixed on the screen, Beatrice drew the special phone out of her handbag and peeled off the cover for the adhesive. Checking that Osbourne was still occupied, she leaned down and stuck the phone to the bottom of one of the lower shelves. Spotting it would require a person to be on their hands and knees on the floor. Satisfied, she turned back to watch Osbourne maneuver the car around pieces of furniture.

“Impressive,” she commented. “This technology could change the world.”

“Right?” Osbourne said, picking up the car to place it back in its place. “You get it. The people fighting us have no idea what they’re standing in the way of. It’ll transform lives. It’ll _save_ lives.”

“Save lives?” Beatrice asked, curious.

“Well, say there’s some sort of disaster.” Osbourne’s eyes moved around the room as he gestured. “A… an earthquake or something. People are trying to flee. But maybe they don’t have access to cars. Nobody’s gonna drive into danger to come pick them up; that’s insane. But if you can send in our cars, nobody’s life gets risked.”

Beatrice swallowed back a great many things she would have liked to say. It was something she had a lot of experience doing, but she’d gotten out of the habit recently, and it tasted sour.

“You’re right,” she said. “You would be heroes.”

As Osbourne nodded, eyes lit up, she reflected that she’d been the perfect choice for this job. They didn’t need espionage expertise. They needed someone with practice telling vile men exactly what they wanted to hear.

The rest of the interview was trivial to get through, and she walked out of the facility without a problem.

When she returned to the rest stop, she found the others in a coffee shop, Q on his laptop while his companions crowded around to watch. They all looked up at her arrival, faces breaking into expressions of relief.

“You did it!” Q said. “I’m in his computer now.”

“Did you find the files?” Beatrice asked. He shook his head.

“Not yet, but I’ll keep looking. I have found a very interesting document called ‘MAC Event’ that seems to be some kind of schedule.”

Beatrice joined them at the table. “Mac like my computer?”

“Mm, could be a lot of things, unfortunately.” Q pursed his lips. “It’s all caps, which means possibly an acronym, too. We’ve been trying to figure out the contents. Want to look?” He spun his computer to show her the document.

_MAC Event_

_7:00 - party at E’s starts_

_7:15 - H at venue_

_7:30 - event starts_

_7:40 - start posting photos_

_7:45 - START_

_7:48 - finish posting photos_

_7:55 - E makes announcement/response begins_

Beatrice frowned at the list, trying to make sense of it. Her heart sank as one thing jumped out at her immediately.

“The mentions of ‘event’ and ‘party’ – he’s referring to two separate affairs, happening at the same time.”

“We wondered about that,” Q said. “You sound sure, though. And your face is telling me that it’s something bad.”

“I don’t know what they’re planning for this ‘event’,” Beatrice said. “But the plan to post photos through the most important moment of ‘Event’ – I recognize that.”

“They’re establishing alibis,” James agreed grimly. His eyes met hers, and a moment of understanding passed between them. “I thought so. This party is just a cover for whatever ‘Event’ they have planned, so they have witnesses and photos to put them away from the scene of the crime.”

“Oh, hell,” said Eve. “I just checked Hart’s calendar. She’s attending a party at Eric Norwood’s house tomorrow night, starting at seven. That doesn’t give us much time.”

“Do you think she’s the ‘H’ mentioned on the schedule?” Anne asked as they packed up.

“Either her or Hunter McCarthy,” Eve mused. “Assuming it’s not someone new.”

“My money’s on McCarthy,” James said. “‘H’ seems to be the one handling the Event. Men like these don’t have women take point.” Beatrice privately agreed with him.

They piled back into the car and returned to Beatrice’s home with no stops, but it was still almost dinnertime when they arrived. They had just over twenty-four hours to figure out what Osbourne and his cohorts were planning that would require all of them to have alibis.

—

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Anne asked for the third time. Eve gave her a fond smile and a wink to cheer her up. It was touching how attached the girl seemed to have gotten to all of them. Her stubborn loyalty, initially focused on Q, had now expanded to their whole group.

“Don’t fret, love,” Eve promised her. “We do this for a living.”

They were parked on a quiet, tree-filled street not far from Eric Norwood’s house. A day of searching Osbourne’s computer hadn’t gotten them any closer to what the ‘Event’ was, but it had yielded one helpful clue: Norwood was mentioned as having the original copy of something Q was certain referred to his stolen files.

Even better, James had figured out where his hiding place was. Norwood had apparently bragged at length about his healthy lifestyle to James and his other lunch companions. Eve had tuned out most of James’s complaints about it later – something something pollutants like alcohol dulling your chi, or whatever. (That was how she imagined Norwood talked – like a white man who’d read one single book on some Asian philosophy and now fancied himself as having all the answers.)

At any rate, Norwood’s crusade against ‘toxins’ had become suspicious once they had his communications with Hart. One of his specifications for house-hunting had been a wine cellar, which he clearly wasn’t using for wine. James was convinced they’d found Norwood’s vault, so with time ticking down to the ‘Event’ and no other clues, he and Eve were going into the party as caterers to try to raid it. Q and Anne would be nearby in the van – which, to James’s great distress and Eve’s great amusement, was a minivan, the better to blend into a suburban neighborhood.

As seven came and went, nerves in the van mounted. They needed to wait until the party was busy enough to keep them from being noticed, but the guests were arriving slowly. If they did find out something sinister about the Event, they weren’t going to have much time before ‘START’. To make matters worse, Norwood’s guests had no compunctions about parking them in, which meant getting anywhere in a hurry would require stealing a car.

At 7:15, just as Eve and James were about to put on their uniforms and go in, Q’s phone buzzed.

“Hello?” he answered – then, a moment later, “Hold on, I’ll put you on speaker.”

Eve paused with her hands on the buttons of her blouse.

“I found something,” Beatrice’s voice came over the speaker. “You said MAC might be an acronym. I thought this afternoon that it could be a place. I didn’t want to waste your time in case I was wrong, but I used the open-source map you showed me. I downloaded all the data for this area and made a program like our name-search app to find all the matches with the right initials. I’m so sorry it took me a long time.”

“No, no, that’s brilliant,” Q said, and Eve could hear the pride in his voice. “Thinking to run a RegEx on all the POIs in the area – I should hire you for my team. Did you find anything?”

“There’s a place very near you,” Beatrice said. “Montalvo Arts Center. It’s not the only match, but I checked their website, and they have a concert tonight starting at 7:30.”

“That’s got to be it,” Eve said. “The ‘Event’. But if it’s just a concert – if it’s not something Osbourne and the others planned – then what are they doing there?”

“I don’t know,” James said, already moving for the door. “But it won’t be good. Q, get us a map of the place if you can.”

“I have one,” Beatrice said. “I’ll send it now.”

“Stay safe,” Eve told Q and Anne as she hopped out the door after James. “Keep an eye on the party, but don’t engage. We’ll find McCarthy and figure out what he’s up to.”

—

_Don’t engage._ Q hadn’t forgotten Eve’s parting instructions, but as he listened to Beatrice directing the two agents on their search of Montalvo, time crawling onward, it became more and more difficult to sit still.

“Even if they catch him,” he worried, “the others could go to ground. And we still don’t know what they’re _planning_. Bloody hell, if we could just check that wine cellar…”

“I could go in,” Anne volunteered bravely, gesturing to the catering outfit that Eve had left behind. “Osbourne – or whatever his real name is – is the only one who’d recognize me, and it’s a big house. I can go through the kitchen to the cellar and avoid most of the guests altogether.”

“No,” Q said, hearing her terrified phonecall all over again. “I’ll do it. Nobody but Osbourne knows me, either.”

Anne squared her shoulders, meeting his eyes. “I’m not letting you go alone. Either we both go, or nobody does.” Her voice was even, and it was obvious arguing would be futile.

Q hesitated, his protectiveness over her warring with his protectiveness for the agents. They could handle McCarthy, surely – someone like him should post no danger to them. Except going in without intel was _always_ a danger, and he could hear from the call with Beatrice that they’d already searched most of the facility without finding him. The concert was starting, and they had less than fifteen minutes to stop whatever was going to happen.

At 7:33, when fifteen became twelve, Q gave in.

“All right. All right.” He started changing into Bond’s catering outfit as quickly as he could. “In and out. If you see Osbourne, bolt for the party, not outdoors. They won’t be able to do anything in front of witnesses.”

Anne nodded, looking more serious than he’d ever seen her as she stripped off and pulled on Eve’s clothes. They were both dressed and across the road by 7:35.

“Ready?” Q asked, pausing by the side door.

Anne took a deep breath, nodded again, and led the way inside.

Instantly, the noise from the party grew louder. It sounded as though most of the guests were in the backyard. They’d both studied the plans of Norwood’s house enough to know their way around it, quickly locating the cellar stairs and slipping down them when nobody was looking.

“Well,” Anne said, eyeing the door at the bottom with its state-of-the-art electronic keypad. “That’s not suspicious at all. Can you get through this?” When Q didn’t respond, she turned to him, looking worried. “Q?”

Q was busy having a religious experience.

“What an idiot,” he breathed. “What a fucking _brilliant_ idiot.” Anne looked back at the door, catching onto what he’d noticed.

“Oh my god.”

“ _Right?_ ”

“Oh my _god._ The hinges are _on the outside._ ”

“I love him,” Q declared, flipping out the screwdriver on his pocketknife. “Norwood, McCarthy, whatever fucking _moron_ set up this security door. I could kiss him.” Getting the door detached from the wall took no time at all, and with a few solid yanks from the pair of them, it came halfway out of the frame. Q wasted no time climbing through.

They’d found it. He knew instantly. The former wine cellar was scattered with tables, a sofa, and a computer desk. The computer was still on, and he dashed to sit in front of it as Anne started looking through papers.

“We should be quick,” she warned. “If someone left that on, they could be back any minute, and we weren’t exactly subtle with the door.”

“It’s all here,” Q said, going through files so fast he barely had time to blink. “Our stolen files, holy _shit_ , surveillance on you in London – Anne, we’ve fucking got them. We’ve got the fuckers.”

“Q, look at this.” Anne approached him with a legal pad, hand shaking. “It’s a draft of a press release. They’re talking about how Drivr was proud to be able to save the concertgoers from the fire. They’re going to _start a fire so they can rescue people from it_.”

For a moment Q physically couldn’t breathe. His chest seized up, and his mind went blank.

“What do we do?” Anne whispered, looking as sick and scared as he felt, and he forced himself to stand. He fumbled his phone out and almost dropped it.

“No signal down… here,” he panted, still fighting to get in a full breath. _You’re having a panic attack. Get a fucking hold of yourself and work through it. Lives are on the line._ He forced in more air and tried to focus on nothing but the mission. “We have… to get out. And.” His lungs felt like they’d shrunk to a quarter of their usual size; it was bloody _frustrating_. “Call the fire. Fire department.”

“Are you okay?” Anne looked alarmed.

“My fucking… body. I’ll be… fine.” He nodded to the door, and they both moved to leave, then froze.

There were footsteps coming down the stairs.

Q didn’t trust himself to get words out fast enough, so he grabbed Anne’s shoulders, moved her around the desk, and pushed her down behind it. When she opened her mouth to protest, he put a finger to his lips and shot her a fierce look.

Then he circled back around and sat down at the desk.

His breath was still coming in short gasps by the time the door was shoved the rest of the way open, but he’d managed to silence them, at least. The more he focused, the more grounded he felt. Anne was his responsibility. He was going to get her out of here if it killed him.

He spun the chair around to see Ryan Levitt pointing a gun at him, a look of utter shock on his face.

“ _Q?_ ”

“Levitt,” Q said, trying to sound calm. “Or is it Osbourne? Hard to keep track.” He felt like a shaking mess, but he was hoping Levitt would be too rattled himself to notice. To Q’s relief, catching one intruder in the act seemed to have prevented Levitt from thinking to search the room. If he could just keep his head and get Levitt’s attention away from the door, Anne might have a chance to make it out.

“How did you…” Levitt started.

“Find you? Simple.” Q got to his feet, trying not to flinch when Levitt raised the gun in warning, and wandered deeper into the cellar, leaning to examine something on one of the tables without even taking in what he was seeing. He focused on breathing as deeply as he could.

“Hey,” Levitt said sharply. “Stay where you are.”

Q turned and leaned back against the table, half to feign relaxed confidence and half because he wasn’t sure how much longer his legs would hold him. Levitt was still too close to the doorway to allow Anne an escape route. She needed him to move towards Q.

“Put the gun down, Levitt. We both know you’re a coward.” Levitt snarled and twitched towards him but didn’t actually move, so Q tried harder. “You know, in hindsight, I should’ve guessed you were the traitor from the start. Your work was always so… average. I wasted time looking at the people who were the greatest threats. But people like that don’t need to cheat and steal to get ahead. It’s the ones like you – the embodiment of mediocrity – who know they’ll never make it on their own merit.”

That did it. Levitt lunged forward and struck out at him with the gun. Bond or Eve probably could have disarmed someone stupid enough to try that, but Q wasn’t fast enough, and his breath caught as a shock of pain bloomed in his jaw. He could feel blood inside his mouth.

“ _Shut the fuck up_ ,” Levitt hissed. “God, I can’t believe they ever expected me to take orders from you, you snobby bitch. Everyone knows you got your job by sleeping with someone.” Some sort of dam seemed to have broken inside him, leaving rage pouring out. It wasn’t anything Q hadn’t heard before – honestly, people had said worse things to him in grade school – but he refrained from pointing that out, because his face was hurting quite a lot and he had no desire to have Levitt hit him again.

“Ryan,” he pleaded softly, keeping his eyes glued to the man’s face as Anne crept out of her hiding place in the background. “Be reasonable. What do you think you can accomplish?”

Levitt sneered. “Not so high-and-mighty now, are you?” He crowded into Q’s space, pressing the gun into his chest, and the movement behind him paused as Anne hesitated.

“Do you know how many people are going to die?” Q asked sharply. He was still looking at Levitt, but it did the job. Anne flinched and edged around the broken door. Q couldn’t see her face, but he could imagine the misery on it as she disappeared. “This plan of yours is insane. Start a fire in those woods and it won’t stop there. You’ll kill us all. There’s still time to call it off.”

“Actually,” Levitt said, “McCarthy should be lighting things up any minute now, and you know what? We’re just going to wait here while he does.” He dragged Q away from the table and shoved him into a chair, keeping the gun leveled at his heart. “And then once Eric’s done rescuing those people, he’s going to come down here, and we’re going to figure out what to do with you.”

Q’s heart was pounding, but it wasn’t the mind-numbing terror of last time he’d been in danger. He remembered Bond’s voice saying _We’d tear the world apart to find you_. Anne had made it out to warn him and Eve, and they were going to stop McCarthy, and then they’d be the ones coming for him.

He closed his eyes, breathed in, breathed out, and waited.

—

Anne had thought, when she knocked on the door of Q’s office, that what she was doing was hard. She’d thought she understood what it felt like to do the right thing, in spite of the consequences.

Now she knew better.

Every quiet step she took up the basement stairs weighed heavier in her stomach, until she thought she would vomit. She kept moving anyway.

At the top of the stairs, she ran, pulling her phone out before she’d even left the house. If she didn’t stop McCarthy – if she’d left Q down there for nothing—

She almost screamed in frustration when she realized she’d wasted precious seconds calling 999 instead of 911, redialing as fast as possible.

“There’s an arsonist at the Montalvo Arts Center concert,” she said before the operator had gotten a word out. “He’s going to try to start a fire any minute. I have to go to try to stop him.” She hung up and dialed the group call, dropping into the shadow of the side porch as the phone rang. “Eve, James, McCarthy’s not in the building. He’s going to start a fire in the woods.” She heard cursing as both of them started to sprint. Her eyes were starting to sting with tears. “Ryan – I mean Osbourne – he has Q.”

If she’d thought the swearing before was colorful, that was nothing to what was coming over the line now. Both of the agents knew what she did: nothing could come before stopping McCarthy. Neither of them could come back.

But she could. She’d done her job, warning everybody. There was nothing she could do to help at Montalvo now. Angry courage swelled up inside her.

“I’m going back for him.”

She didn’t wait to hear what they had to say. She hung up and ran back for the basement.

When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she could hear Ryan’s voice raised in a threat. She stepped around the broken door to see Q sprawled in a chair, Ryan standing over him and gesturing with the gun. And all of a sudden, thoughts of how to sneak up and get the upper hand on him disappeared. He looked so… _weak_ that her fear faded away.

“Ryan,” she said, and watched him spin around. “It’s over.”

He stared at her for a moment, flabbergasted, before his face twisted with hatred. “ _You_.”

“Me,” she agreed. “Ryan, MI6 is here. We know everything. Give up. Right now all you’ve done is steal some old secrets. _I_ know you attacked me, but there’s no proof, so you’ll probably get away with that. You might even get lucky with the theft charges. But if you kill a branch head? You know they’ll never let you go, and there’s nowhere on Earth they won’t find you.”

Ryan made a noise that was almost a growl, but she watched as the truth of her words settled in. He moved towards her, and she took a step back, out of his way. He kept his gun trained them as he backed up towards the door.

None of them said a word as he disappeared up the stairs, gun raised until he was out of sight. Anne waited until his footsteps died away to cross over to Q, pulling her tie off to dab at the blood on his face.

“He won’t get away,” she said. Q stood, putting a hand on her shoulder. She wasn’t sure which one of them it was intended to steady. Maybe both.

“No,” he agreed. “He won’t.”

—

McCarthy, Bond and Moneypenny would agree later, had been almost embarrassingly easy to take down. A letdown, if Bond was being honest. Just another bully with an inflated ego.

No, the truly unpleasant part was the cleanup. Taking targets in alive required a great deal more hassle and bureaucracy than leaving their bodies for MI6 to explain.

This was another thing that Double-O’s knew better than to mention.

After Levitt’s ill-thought-out attempt to flee had been foiled and the rest of the gang had been rounded up, Beatrice accompanied Bond and the others to the airport for a round of tearful goodbyes and promises to keep up her lessons. Bond had to admit, leaving a beautiful woman behind to fly home to a mountain of paperwork was a truly awful reward for what seemed like every mission he went on.

Seeing Anne smiling and alive on the flight back, though, somewhat made up for it.

“So what now?” Moneypenny asked her, leaning over a passed-out Q to paint his nails while he slept. Bond honestly wasn’t sure whether she was doing it as a prank or a favor. “Anything changing for you?”

Anne shook her head. “Other than a lot of debriefings – and some therapy – I’m gonna try to get back to my old life. But, you know, if you ever have a mission that needs robots, I’ll be there.”

The poor girl didn’t realize what she was promising. Every mission needed robots.

“Good to know,” Moneypenny said. “And, y’know.” Her face softened. “I know all of this hasn’t been easy. If you want someone to walk you home for a while, any of us would be happy to.”

“Thanks,” Anne said sincerely. “I’ll let you know. It helps, knowing that it’s over.”

“It is,” Moneypenny promised, putting a hand over hers.

“Even the company’s shutting down,” Bond put in, and Anne glanced over at him.

“Drivr?”

“Yes, something about their ‘proprietary’ tech being stolen and half their execs being arrested.” He smirked. “Guess they decided it’s _the end of the road_.”

Being pelted with balled-up napkins was worth the looks on their faces.


End file.
